


london calling (yes, i was there, too)

by melodiousmadrigals



Series: wondertrev week 2020 [1]
Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, F/M, London, Major Character Revival, Opposite of Major Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25258198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousmadrigals/pseuds/melodiousmadrigals
Summary: Day 1 of Wondertrev Loveweek: LondonA view of London, past and present, from Diana's point of view.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Series: wondertrev week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830868
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61
Collections: Wondertrev Week 2020





	london calling (yes, i was there, too)

**Author's Note:**

> No beta; mistakes all my own. Title from The Clash's 1979 "London Calling".
> 
> Ignoring literally everything we know about WW84 because it doesn't fit my #aesthetic for this one-shot.

**_present_ **

London has become a glittering, sprawling city in the years since Diana first arrived at its docks. Some would go so far as to call it the greatest city in the world. 

Diana still dislikes it. 

She never warmed to London. She loves Lisbon, adores Amman, visits Xi'an every chance she gets, calls Paris home for now. But London remains something of a frustration for her, a necessary evil for business trips from time to time. 

There are things she doesn't mind, she supposes. 

The red telephone boxes, for one. They're a bit cliché, but iconic. (She remembers when those were first put in.) They're less common now, but every time she passes one, she snaps a photo and texts it to Clark, with the caption _thinking of you,_ because one time in a pinch, he used one to change into his Superman suit but in his haste accidentally broke one of the panes of glass, and she's never going to let him forget it. 

Then there's Hampstead Heath. It's a bit outside the bustle of the city proper, sure, but it's a breath of fresh air (literally), and it has lovely views of the city. She's enjoyed her walks there, even fondly recalls a picnic or two on the grassy hill as she gazes at the skyline, stuck in the city between one meeting and the next. 

Indeed, the city itself has largely been cleaned up. There are still stately aging buildings and parks, but less of the pervasive grime. Still, there's something about London that she can't quite put her finger on that makes her feel unsettled. 

It's totally irrational. 

* * *

**_1918_**

**_*_ **

_"It's hideous."_

_"Yeah, it's not for everyone."_

*

Diana _hates_ it here. The air is bleak and grey and thick. It's like the air on Themyscira on the winter solstice, when it's choked by smoke from their celebratory bonfires, only worse, because this isn't fragrant, woody smoke. It's a thick miasma of coal and smog, utterly pungent, with an acrid odor layering it that Diana will soon find out is what the aftermath of bombings smell like. 

The streets, too, are filthy, full of trash and grey with coal dust, and she's never seen anything so utterly uncivilized in her whole life. 

And it's _loud,_ an ugly cacophony of sounds like she's never encountered: people shouting—a language that she understands, to be sure, but one that is just a little dissonant all the same because it isn't _hers_ —and bells chiming and the creaks and groans of the bridge as it raises, and hissing of the engines in the automobiles. 

Truly, she doesn't know why anyone would live here, but it's all right, because soon they'll be headed off to the War. Battlefields are not _good,_ but she is sure they are something that she at least understands. 

* * *

Her first day in London has been a whirlwind: the clothing shop, the fight in the alley, Parliament and the horribly rude generals, and finally, assembling the team at the pub. She's not ashamed to admit that she's looking forward to a bit of rest before she goes to confront Ares. 

After leaving the pub, Steve leads her to a quiet side street, and directs her up three flights of stairs into a cramped set of rooms. 

"It's not much, but when I'm in London, it's home." 

The apartment is largely impersonal—it's clear that Steve doesn't spend much time here, away on missions more often than not—but it still feels warm. To that end, Steve ushers her into the little kitchen and hands her a cup of tea. 

It's pleasantly warm despite being bitter, and she manages to finish it as Steve gets up and starts rearranging the cushions on the sofa.

"What are you doing?" 

"Um. Making up the couch?" It sounds like more of a question than her own, honestly. 

"Yes, I have eyes," she says impatiently. " _Why_ are you making up the couch?" 

"I...don't have an answer you'll approve of." 

She huffs. "I do not understand your society in the slightest. Did we not sleep together on the boat, just last night, and all the ones before it?" 

"Er. Yeah."

"And tonight is different how?" 

"Um," says Steve, clearly looking uncomfortable. "There's a bed?" 

Diana levels him with a very unimpressed look. "You sat alone at the kitchen table with me while we drank tea."

"Well, I—huh? What's that got to do with anything?" 

"Well, what on earth do they teach you about the pleasures of the flesh that makes you think a bed or even a horizontal position is a requirement?" 

Steve chokes on air and starts coughing. "Diana—"

"I'm just saying you get very flustered about very peculiar things. The bed, for example, but not the kitchen table, which looks very sturdy, by the way—" 

"Okay, okay! You've made your point! I'll sleep with you."

"Finally," she huffs. 

"It's—"

"—not polite to assume, yes, you have said, but it is hardly an assumption on your part if I have clearly stated my feelings."

"Right, well, we'll just. Um. Go to bed, then." 

Steve, anticipating Diana's lack of concern over modesty, offers her an oversized flannel shirt to sleep in. 

"If it will make you feel better," she says, and puts it on over her undergarments. 

"Goodnight," she says, once he's extinguished the light. 

"Night." 

She's not awake long enough to see him fall asleep, falling into a slumber almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

* * *

Diana wakes up to warmth, an intangible yet visceral feeling of safety, and a comfortable weight around her waist. It's clearly morning, weak light dappling the side of the room, the view out the window in front of her proving it's a cloudy day. She shifts slightly and realizes that in the night, Steve has rolled her way and thrown his arm around her. 

They're meant to get an early start, but Diana is used to waking up so early for training every morning that it can't possibly be time to get up yet. She's willing to lay in bed just a few moments longer, but her shifting appears to have woken up Steve, who tugs her a little closer and then seems to realize where he is. 

He lets go of her like her skin is aflame and jerks backward so hard that he nearly falls off the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" 

She catches his hand in the middle of a wild gesticulation. "If I thought you were being disrespectful, you would no longer have the arm in question." 

"Right. Neat. I'll just, uh, go make some tea." 

Sameer and Charlie knock on the door not long after, and then they're out of London, off to the War. 

* * *

London, upon return, is even worse than London before. Even amidst the celebrations, it seems so much bleaker, so much colder. 

Etta, dear lovely Etta, helps with all the arrangements to make it appear as though she existed before last week. Documents, a day job—and a place to stay. 

"I've arranged it all so that it's yours. Young ladies, they usually have to stay in boarding rooms, but I think this is what he would've wanted." 

Etta makes time to take her to the apartment, under the guise of ensuring that it has everything she needs. 

It's a grey day, the kind that doesn't really let much light make its way indoors. The small apartment is dim, and it feels so desolate, so empty.

Diana turns in a circle as Etta rummages through the drawers, making a list of the few things she finds to be lacking. She was just here a few days ago; how can a place feel so intrinsically different? 

"Well, luv, it appears to be mostly in order. If you don't mind, I'll come 'round tomorrow with a new spatula and a bit of sugar, and you'll be all set."

"Yes, of course," Diana says distantly, and then Etta's gone, out the door. 

An apartment so small and cluttered shouldn't be so capable of feeling empty, but it does. 

Diana, who's always run hot, feels vaguely cold. 

* * *

She tries, she really does. She does her job and goes on missions and tries to make friends, invites people over for dinner or tea, does her best to make London home. 

She makes it a whole month before it drives her mad, being in that little apartment. London itself doesn't hold Steve's ghost, but this apartment does. 

After a month, she can no longer stand it, even though she's hardly ever there anyways. In a fit of impulsiveness, she turns the keys over the Etta, and moves to Paris, a place she's been several times already, on missions with Sameer, and once, Napi. 

She moves frequently, after that, from place to place, city to city, country to country, but doesn't call London home again. 

* * *

**_present_**

So it's irrational, but every time Diana thinks of London, all she can think of are the grey skies and the colorless light in that apartment, like the world was slowly being sapped of color. Each time she thinks of London, she can't help but associate it with sorrow. With each emotion she felt in the aftermath of Steve's death, all of the complicated ways her victory felt like anything but. 

No, she never takes to London, even as the years pass and the city changes. She arrives only as absolutely necessary, and leaves as soon as whatever work is done. 

Today, for example, she's here for a conference on artifact preservation. She knows the man from the British Museum who's presenting the seminar—and frankly he has no business giving this talk—and as soon as it's over she'll be on the Eurostar back to Paris. 

* * *

Her next meeting in London is with the director of the British Museum itself. She and a small team from the Louvre are meeting with a team from the British Museum to hammer out a loans agreement for a couple of highly-coveted pieces. It's the most important meeting outside of the Justice League that she'll have all year, and she's the lead negotiator. 

The day before she's expected to leave for the week-long trip, Steve shows up, alive again after a century and change. 

She already wasn't looking forward to the trip—this just makes it worse. She's in emotional crisis, and has no desire to leave Steve for any period of time, but this is literally the one meeting of the year that she cannot miss. (After all, if there's one attitude regarding museums and artifact "ownership" that she hates more than France's, it's Britain's. She's _not_ going to miss this meeting and let them get away with anything.)

"I could...come with?" asks Steve, uncertainly. They're both still trying to figure things out. 

"Would you?" 

"It's hardly the worst place I've ever followed you," he says weakly, trying for a joke, and it's met with a wet laugh. "Look, I know London. _Knew_ London, anyways. I could walk around somewhere familiar while you were in meetings and then after…" he trails off. 

"And then after, there is no one I would rather spend time with," Diana declares. 

"Neat, so—I'm coming." 

Diana wastes no time booking the second ticket.

* * *

"It's hideous," says Steve when he sees the ultra-modern skyline for the first time. 

"Well, London isn't for everyone," replies Diana with a smirk. 

"It's just—strange. London was sort of home for so long, and now I don't even recognize it." 

"You get used to it, after a while," she says softly, and Steve has the distinct impression that she's not just talking about London. 

They've arrived the evening before the meetings are set to start, so they wander around a little before getting dinner and checking into the hotel. (Diana has accumulated properties in plenty of places, but London was never one of them; instead, they're staying downtown, near several _excellent_ take-away spots that Diana was already planning on taking advantage of.)

"How many shades of red would you turn if I offered to take the couch right now?" Steve jokes, surveying the hotel room upon arrival. 

"Objectively? Fewer than if you joined me in the bed."

Steve flushes almost as many shades as he had in mind, still a little startled by her bluntness. 

"Oh? And now who's assuming?" he says as evenly as he can. 

"I don't know what you mean," she says, far too innocently, "I run hot when I sleep." 

"Right." 

She can't help but laugh at that. She feels so—content, for the first time in so long. It's coloring her view of everything: the business trip suddenly doesn't feel so unmanageable, London doesn't feel so soul-less, even the sterile hotel room feels cheerful. 

It's true that Diana never warmed up to London, but it has a fighting chance now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please pardon any negative depictions of London; it's not my favorite city but it mostly comes from Diana's emotional relationship with the place. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
